vivacious eyes, in his movements and gestures,
and even broke out in extraordinary grimaces, as already remarked. And
just in the same fervid eager way he often seized upon an idea or a
pleasing fancy, till it took complete possession of him; he could not
rid himself of it. With this was combined his remarkable quickness of
perception and comprehension; a single gesture or phrase was often
sufficient to enable him to grasp a character. What he hated above all
things was dulness--_ennui_; this never failed to provoke his keenest
irony and bitterest sarcasms. In his last years he even became cynical
and rugged and vulgar, in which we may of course trace the influence of
his tavern associates. It is to his credit that he did not sink into
Byronic misanthropy and bitter self-lacerating scorn, or even into
Heine's irreverence and persiflage.

An old German poet says, "Seht das Loos der Menschheit--Heute Freude,
Morgen Leid;"[28] but with Hoffmann joy and pain were frequently more
closely allied than this even: whilst the jest was on his lips the
sting would be in his heart. In this, as well as in several other
features of his stormy career, he did indeed resemble his countryman
Heine. One of the necessities of his nature was human society--not
simply society, however, but people who could appreciate him, who could
fall in with his moods, and either follow intelligently when he led, or
lend him a stimulating and helping hand to keep the ball of wit and
jollity rolling. An illustration of this is found in the fact that he
"did not love the society of women. If he could not mystify them, or
draw them into the circle of his fantasies, or discover in them any
decided talent for comicality, he preferred the society of men."
Amongst women, however, after those of the class just named, he was
most interested in young and pretty girls, being attracted by the charm
of their fresh beauty, not by the charm of their mind. Learned women he
hated.

Hoffmann was, as already observed, the child of extremes. These were
revealed not only in his life and action, but also in his writings; for
his writings are the man. Indeed German critics have said that his
works, particularly the _Fantasiestuecke_, are "lyrics in prose." What
they mean by this phrase is chiefly that the things he wrote exhibit
subjective phrases of his nature, and are disconnected, or rather not
connected, not balanced parts of a systematic whole. This is true so
far as it